Someone Save Spock
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: //Under construction as of yet// The First Officer makes a mistake that might save the Captain, but at what cost? //Warnings: just over-all not-nice-ness//
1. Chapter 1

Nicholas: First time in this fandom and I'm scared...*shiver with sifty-eyes*...Anyway, this is basically a draft. Something that I wanted to get out there while I was still breathing. I'm still working out the kinks and writing up the rest of it, so don't be surprised if I quickly take this down or forget about it completely. I do that a lot...sorry T_T

Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry was the genius. I can't lay claim to Star Trek. Nor can I Spock. I'm pretty sure Leonard Nimoy has Spock--somewhere in the vast, amazing confines of his mental processes.

Rating: M...believe me. If I finish this it WILL be M. Capture, torture, bondage, non-con slash, dub-con slash...I think you can count on most everything taboo at this point. I'll update the warnings later. Nothing much in this part besides mentions of torture.

* * *

"Captain?"

The vaguely humanoid-shaped blob lying on the other side of the room—or cell, rather—stirred. With a rustle of fabric, the man pushed himself up from the hard, stone floor and squinted into the darkness. "Mr. Spock, is that you?"

Pale skin stretched taught over Spock's familiar face and glowed slightly in the limited light. A soft shimmer clung at his black hair and curled around the points of his ears. "Yes, Captain," he said with that deep voice of his.

"What are you doing here, Spock? I was under the impression that I was alone here." Kirk's smile quickly faded with the idea that yet another of his crewman had fallen prey to whatever had gotten him.

"My intention was to come to your aid, Captain," the Vulcan explained, "I had extensive and detailed scans of the area in which you disappeared and I believed that perhaps I could locate you. It appears, unfortunately, that I was correct."

Sitting back, Kirk leaned his head against the wall and sighed. "What happened to Ensigns Lewis and Marquez?" he asked wearily.

"Currently, I am under the impression that they either contacted the ship and thus returned to safety there, or they were captured by the same beings that captured us." Spock moved, dragging his arm into his lap as if it were completely limp. As he stared at it, his hand twitched, fingers alive with a mind all their own."I now realize my error. I did not understand the risk, nor did I take the proper precaution of discerning these life forms to be hostile. It appears that by making my top priority your rescue, I had acted illogically. And no doubt have I jeopardized the lives of Lewis and Marquez and also lost temporary use of my arm."

"Yes, I felt a similar effect when they brought me here," the captain muttered. "It wears off quickly, don't worry."

Spock looked up with a curious expression. "I can assure you, Captain, that I would not continue to make further mistakes by allowing myself into the weakened, emotional state of anxiety."

"Of course, Mr. Spock, of course." With that, Jim said nothing else. He found himself with an almost irresistible curiosity about the man before him. In any other circumstance, he would have delighted in prodding at Spock's rare admittance of fallacy. Oh, how he wanted to do just that, but now wasn't the time.

A loud clang sounded through the echoing blackness around them. Captain Kirk jumped, his nerves were shredded from mere hours of this cat and mouse between himself and his captors, whoever they were. Had he had them, cat ears would have flipped upright on his head. "Spock?"

"Calm yourself, Jim," Spock assured him. His tone remained level and analytical—since it can't very well be calm. "You are emanating anxiety to a practically poisonous degree. Being in such close proximity with you in this slightly weakened state makes the sensation quite apparent and a bit nauseating."

Now the captain was a little more than just on edge. "Oh really?" he snapped bordering on vicious. "I must have been in this hole a day now. Of course I'm anxious, damn it. It's a human thing that keeps my race equal if not superior to you damn Vulcans in the sense of self-preservation."

Both of Spock's dark, slanted eyebrows bent slightly and furrowed together in confusion. On the rare occasions that Jim was uncontrollably irritated, he had never directed it on an entire race, and especially not on Spock. This was an alarming insight into the fragility of Human sanity in such a situation as this. Like always, Spock did not allow the remark to affect him on a personal level.

"Technically, you have been here for approximately 1.56 days on the planetary scale. If I have angered you, it was not my intention. I simply meant to inform you that your apprehension can in no way alleviate the unpleasantness of this situation.

The captain sighed again—a vastly exhausted sound—and ran a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered. It wasn't in his nature to act aggressively toward a friend and not immediately beg forgiveness. "The dark is getting to me, along with those noises. You know that I hold enormous respect for you, forgive me for snapping at you, you don't deserve it."

With a quick nod, Spock shrugged off the tiny annoyance he felt and would never admit to. "It's quite alright. Sometimes I forget how human you are, but I understand that you must be under and enormous amount of stress. Have you slept at all?"

"No."

Laying down on his side, Jim face the vague shape of his tall, gangly First Officer, cramped into the corner of the tiny, stone room. Even sitting it would be hard for the Vulcan to straighten his back, and unless he wanted to kick the captain in the side, stretching his legs out was a no go area. Whoever had built this place obviously didn't have comfort in mind.

"That clanking noise is a regular occurrence," Jim went on, "sometimes it is loud, sometimes it's quiet."

"Could be purposeful sleep deprivation," the other suggested thoughtfully. "That is a very old, very Human form of torture, however."

"Well, if it is, it's working."

A thoughtful, methodical hum arose from the pale, shadowed face by the bars. This situation was slowly rearing the reality of its ugly head. After worrying about Jim incessantly for an imperceptible number of hours—another thing that he'll never admit to—he'd finally found him. Unfortunately, he was now prisoner as well of these strange aliens, and what's worse: he knew very little about his captors or their capabilities. They had knocked him unconscious telepathically, if the numbness in his arms or the slowness in his nerves was any testimony. However, other than that, there creatures were a mystery.

_First things first,_ he mused in his head. "Captain, you need sleep. I am perfectly aware that you remained active all through the night before we beamed down as well. Being that you are human, you need it more than myself. If you'd like, I can adjust your mind state to make it easier to rest."

"Put me in a trance, Mr. Spock?"

"Essentially…yes, Captain."

Hesitantly, Jim reached out along the floor into the darkness as far as he had to before he felt something other than hard, cold rock. His fingertips brushed fabric an pressed into the firm muscle of what had to be the Vulcan's thigh. "Thank you…I would very much appreciate it if you did that."

Nodding, Spock clenched his fist a few times to will the feeling and motor skills back a bit quicker. Once he could move it correctly, turning his wrists and stretching his fingers to test it out, he reached carefully along Jim's arm. His hand barely even touched the fabric of Kirk's shirt as he sought out the captain's face. "Simply try to relax," Spock told him softly, gently placing his fingertips on the side of the other's forehead. "Want it and I will help you."


	2. Chapter 2

_Nodding, Spock clenched his fist a few times to will the feeling and motor skills back a bit quicker. Once he could move it correctly, turning his wrists and stretching his fingers to test it out, he reached carefully along Jim's arm. His hand barely even touched the fabric of Kirk's shirt as he sought out the captain's face. "Simply try to relax," Spock told him softly, gently placing his fingertips on the side of the other's forehead. "Want it and I will help you."_

_"Thank you," the captain mumbled earnestly, already starting to feel a wave of calm descend upon him. Quickly, he lost consciousness._

_

* * *

_When a Vulcan screams, it's scary. First of all, one never expects such a loud, unbridled expression of emotion to come from a usually calm, collected individual. And second, the amount of pain that Spock would have to be in to actually show it is fundamentally titanic. Everyone on the same deck as sickbay heard the bloodcurdling shrieks.

"Bones, can't you help him?"

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a genie." Absently, McCoy wiped a bead of chilled sweat from his forehead. Without realizing it, he smeared a small amount of a green substance on his skin.

_Blood_, the captain thought, seeing the dark ooze that covered Dr. McCoy's hands as well as his own. _Spock's blood._ He felt like it was all over him.

Bones had managed to restrain the thrashing Vulcan with the help of three security guards. "I'm afraid to go near him right now, just looking at him," the doctor admitted. "What the hell happened, anyway?"

Honestly, Jim didn't think that this was the best idea. Could they truly stand there chatting while Spock lay on that bed screeching and quaking and thrashing like a wild animal? He couldn't even look at his wound First Officer, even though he didn't need to see, Spock was vocalizing enough. "Can't you sedate him, or something?"

But McCoy was already across the room preparing a hypo. "Of course," the man snapped, "You think I would just let him scream like that?"

"No, I'm sorry." Kirk followed him around like a whipped puppy. He knew nothing else that he could possibly be doing and it made him feel increasingly useless. "I'm still a little bit in shock, I suppose."

"Well, I imagine that you would be. Whatever happened to cause _this_ has to be worth some acute traumatic stress."

Remaining as calm as humanly possible, Bones made his wary way over to the only currently occupied bed in the sickbay. Spock's eyes weren't open, in fact, they were clenched shut in the tense, scrunched expression he wore. However, his mouth hung open like his jaw had locked like that and a harsh breath rushed in and came out a tortured cry. It seemed that his entire body worked in one monumental effort to both get free and will his pain away. When Bones gripped his arm to administer the drug, the Vulcan opened his eyes and let out a howled protest in what must have been his native language.

Kirk could hardly stand this, but he couldn't help practically running to his First Officer's side. "Spock," he addressed him. The other seemed only vaguely aware of his presence.

"He won't hold still," McCoy said with mild frustration. He tried three times, a firm hand pressed down against his patient's bare, feverish chest. Unfortunately, Spock seemed to be running on a subconscious survival instinct; one of the straps on his left arm was starting to fray. "If I don't get him to calm down, there'll be hell to pay. Jim, hold his shoulder, will you?"

With a quick nod, the captain reached across and put a somewhat hesitant hand on Spock's uninjured shoulder. As soon as he touched that hot, slick skin, he felt a violent flinch that made his gut clench.

The sickbay quickly filled with a maelstrom of shouts and cries in what was usually a very calm, very logical language. Jim wondered what he could possibly be saying in this mad state, but then he immediately rejected that. He truly didn't want to know; he wanted no insight into this tortured mind at the moment. With all the strength he could, he tried to pin down his friend. "Just give him the shot, Bones," he demanded.

He couldn't look away, but Jim relaxed a little when he heard the long hiss of the hypo. As soon as it ended, he stepped back and waited for it to take effect, not quite knowing what Bones had given him. He just hoped it would allow the Vulcan to regain just a little more of his dignity.

"That should knock him out cold," the doctor explained, unprompted. "Of course, I don't quite know for sure, what with his damn Vulcan physiology." With a sigh, he wiped his hands down his shirt. "You know, one of these days, I'll just break down and read about it."

Jin just cracked a half-smile at that, his eyes still on Spock. He couldn't quite comprehend fully that this man before him was once his collected, rational officer. His face was contorted in pain, no longer calm and analyzing, and his strong form held nothing back in a futile and illogical attempt to escape. "Dear God, what's happened to you?" Kirk muttered.

Slowly but surely, whatever drug that was coursing through his veins began to take effect. The blackness of Spock's mind started to twinkle with tiny pinpricks of light and he could hear labored breathing and harsh cries that were fading into whimpers. Luckily, he was still beyond grasping that he was making those noises. All that he could think was jumbled into a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Uncertainly, he considered that perhaps he could not wake up because he was not asleep.

He started to feel his body moving, convulsing spots where pain flared like wildfire. Now, he was able to locate a throbbing point as his right shoulder and each pulse of his heart was nearly enough to bring him to tears.

"Jim, I want to know exactly what happened when you disappeared on that damn planet." That sound distinguished itself as the haughty voice of Dr. McCoy.

"Bones, I will gladly tell you everything once I know everything."

For some reason, the moment Jim said that, Spock's eyes shot open wide once more in terror. Every movement stilled and every thought process that had almost awakened shut down. A vicious shiver raked through him and his limbs twitched with a dire need to curl into a ball and disappear into a dark corner somewhere.

Quickly, Jim knelt down and stared at the Vulcan's unseeing eyes. "Spock," he called desperately, hoping that the man would hear him. "Spock, talk to me: acknowledge…Do you even know that I'm here?" Hesitantly, he reached out and placed his fingertips on Spock's shoulder. Yet again, a loud, haunting wail flew like the west wind about the room and Kirk backed away.

Spock didn't trash anymore; he didn't protest in his alien language. "Don't…" he whimpered with an uncharacteristically hoarse and emotional voice. He didn't even sound like himself, though he was a bit more aware than before. "Don't…don't…" It was a strangely simple word for this science officer to be repeating as some unknown plea. "…don't…"

"Don't?" Jim was confused. "Don't what, Spock?" The Vulcan simply continued to repeat that word over and over in a weak mantra. "Don't _what?_"

"Jim," Bones called quietly from across the room. "Come here, just—give him some space." In the stressful atmosphere, the doctor found little to no room to breathe anywhere near Spock; he had no idea how Kirk managed it. He waited until his friend was near enough to hold a quiet conversation. "Jim, I need to know—"

"_I_ don't know."

Abruptly, McCoy raised his hand to silence the other. "I understand that, but damn it, of the first landing party, only the two of you returned. Now, we searched every inch of this side of the planet and we couldn't find a thing. _You're_ the only one who's been anywhere near him this entire time. I need to know everything that happened to you and whatever you can tell me about Spock."

Sighing, Jim leaned against the wall. Spock had finally quieted down enough that the captain was comfortable with having his back to him. "We were captured," he began, staring at his shoes, "by reptilian, yet humanoid creatures. They were telepathic and could paralyze us using their minds. I'm not sure how it works; Mr. Spock would be better able to explain that."

Bones winced slightly when the patient once more stirred, flinching in pain—though he only shouted a short sound before quieting again. "Unfortunately, I don't think he's stable enough, mentally or physically to be answering questions."

Solemnly, Jim nodded. "I don't know…couldn't begin to fathom what they did to him. We were kept together at first in a tiny cell in some underground prison, but then—" When Spock once more started to become riled up, Jim gave an uneasy glance over his shoulder. "I thought you said he should lose consciousness."

"The sedative I gave him should…" Once again, the patient stilled and quieted down so Bones interrupted himself. "He should be out cold, but he only seems disturbed when…" And then, the doctor figured something out. It didn't make much sense just yet, but he theorized that he'd at least have to test it a bit. "Jim, keep talking. Say something else."

Jim followed his gaze uncertainly, curious about what his friend was getting at. "Well, I think I'll continue on the assumption that you're still interested—" But he stopped midsentence.

"Listen to him, Jim."

The Vulcan screeched thinly and yanked his left arm against a black strap with so much force that he almost broke it. That was more strength than he was supposed to be able to muster, drugged as he was. A few moments after the captain stopped speaking, Spock began to calm down again until he was lying virtually still. Now his whimpers softened to quiet sighs accompanied by the occasional writhe in pain.

"No…" Bones exclaimed on a breath. He honestly couldn't believe this was happening. With an almost guilty gulp, he met Jim's eyes. "He's crying." What he had to say next was monumentally more difficult. "I think you should go into the other room."

Of course, Jim wanted to protest. This was his best friend, damn it! He didn't want to leave him after all of this. Spock had practically dragged the both of them out of that hellhole and Jim was not about to walk off and let him pull through this alone. However, the moment he made a sound, Spock let out like his insides were being ripped out.

"I know," McCoy muttered, "I hate that it has to be this way, but something about you, or even your voice is getting to him and won't let him rest. Now, as a doctor, it is my responsibility to treat him and right now, he _needs_ rest more than anything else, so…"

"Bones, I—" but the captain caught himself just in time to look over his shoulder and see Spock stir uncomfortably. He could be infuriated somewhere else, he decided because Bones was right. "Fine," he whispered sharply.

"Have Nurse Chapel give you a full physical. If you're alright, I'll consider letting you back on the bridge." The doctor wince at the sour look Jim gave him before he turned and left. One thing that could jeopardize Jim's cool, captain demeanor was his love for his friends. It was also the only thing that came between him and his ship. McCoy hated to be the one to take that away, especially right now.

As soon as Jim was gone, the doctor sighed and turned his attention to Spock again. _It's necessary_, he told himself. Whatever had happened to the First Officer was bad enough to make him lose total control over himself and his emotions—an almost unheard of indignity on Vulcan. No doubt, it was also the cause of the many lacerations speckling his chest deep shapes of bruised and bleeding. Being a doctor, Bones never had to worry about hemophobia. Yet, that much green frankly made him nauseous. _Whatever_ it was, was now triggering some strange, psychological reaction, perhaps a Vulcan mental defense mechanism of some kind. That, in turn, had something to do with Jim Kirk's voice.

"Spock," Bones called as he approached the bed. The man did not move. "Spock, I have a feeling that you can hear me, on some level of consciousness at least. You seemed to hear Jim." Spock's eyes opened with a flutter and his lips parted, but nothing else. Kneeling down, McCoy looked straight into the other's eyes and noticed the blank, unseeing gaze. "You aren't supposed to be conscious. I wanna know why you are."

Carefully, McCoy reached up and pressed two finger just anterior to the Vulcan's pointed ear. It only took a little pressure to turn his head—like a well-oiled hinge—and then he still didn't acknowledge another presence. The doctor's next thought was that maybe he was unconscious, but for some unknown reason his body was still reacting. "How can you get any rest if you keep moving around?" he asked the blank face. There was no reply, so he just sighed and went to get his scanner. "I don't think I'll ever understand what it is that makes you tick, Spock."

_It wasn't comfortable lying on that almost-frozen floor. Vulcan is one of the hottest inhabitable planets known to man, that is a fact, so most other places would feel significantly cooler. However, this place was dark and moist and achingly cold. I could find no comfort or relief even with my own body heat. It occurred to me that it was interesting that this world could support life at all._

McCoy had turned the temperature up to 135 degrees Fahrenheit already and Spock was still shivering. So Vulcan was a desert planet, Bones understood that. But he couldn't very well adjust the temp to be higher than he could stand it. He already couldn't stay more than thirty minutes and that was hardly enough time to check Spock's vitals. Nurse Chapel badgered him adamantly to let her go in if he couldn't, but McCoy wouldn't have it.

If anyone was going to have the Vulcan's life in his hands and it couldn't be the captain, it was going to be the doctor. Even if he had a hell of a time figuring out why Spock unconsciously insisted that it was cold when he had no fever.

_There was a sound from the direction that my head was positioned, but I could not maneuver my body around to look for it. My arm were bound together, rendered useless beneath my back. I turned slightly, my neck stiff from laying still, and waited. Something was coming, I sensed, coming for me and I didn't hope to fool myself into believing that it meant me good will._

_ Rock ground heavily against rock above me and an off-white light spilled out in a long rectangle around my body. The shadow that passed over me then was shaped vaguely humanoid. Once more, I felt nagging urge to analyze, to know what was in the room with me. I couldn't twist, couldn't see, so I reached out with my mind._

Wearing a short-sleeved shirt and short-legged pant, McCoy entered and quickly approached Spock's bed. As soon as he entered, he was sweating profusely, so he tried to save as much time as possible. He checked vitals—normal for a Vulcan—and then got his scanner.

The sound of a groan stopped for a moment. Spock stirred slightly. It was the first time he'd moved in two days, but McCoy wasn't quite sure that it was a good sign. His heart rate was elevating, high even for his race, and his mental activity suddenly raised. Once again, the man was awake in his sleep.

_Concentrating as deep as I could, pushing aside the cold ache in my joints, I closed my eyes. It was hard to do without touching, but it could be done and I have to know. I had to attain understanding of whatever had me as its captive. I must have taken it—or rather _him_—off guard when I broke through. He was a bit shocked and wondered how I was already conscious._

_ Quickly, he retaliated to my unwelcome intrusion._

Spock screamed like he had when Jim had first brought him back. Alarmed, McCoy jumped back and almost dropped his scanner on the floor. His heart was already working hard to compensate for the thinned air, so starting like that physically hurt. "Damn it, Spock," he snapped under his breath, sweat dripping from his forehead.

_A barrier shot up to protect his thoughts and slammed against my senses; I "saw stars" for a moment and a shock wave jolted down my spine, making my entire body quake. I now understood the excessive and astounding strength that this being was capable of. And I knew his name._

"Reemah," Spock let out a low hiss through gritted teeth. His heart rate increased with a loud beep from the monitor above his head. Immediately at his side, Bones noticed that he'd stopped shivering to give way to squirming in pain.

"Computer," the doctor snapped almost accusingly, "Adjust climate control, temperature back to Earth normal."

"Adjusting," the computerized voice replied, "done."

Almost instantly, the room around him cooled so that he could stand it again. He scooped up his scanned wand and passed it over his patient's body slowly. The injuries amazingly hadn't changed in severity since he'd last checked, and hadn't gotten better, but somehow he was feeling more pain. Add to that, Spock's mental activity went through the roof. It was almost as if there was another mental presence to account for that.

_I heard the creature talk then; his voice was deep and resonating with a crackling ring to it. "That is my name," he said. I did not like his tone: it was demeaning and condescending. "You are quite nosey, Mr. Spock, peeping into my mind like that. Vulcans have that annoying character deficit, I should have expected that you would be no different." I found no comfort in his fluency in the Vulcan language. Reemah stepped around me and I could see the smooth silhouette of his head in the dim light. "Even if you are just a half-breed."_

_ To this, I made no response. His intentions were clear now, even though I did not attempt to read him again. I did not like this _man_ at all and it was not hard to decide that I would not search for any logical reason to appease him—however that might be done. "Yet you know my name."_

Spock said something else, that McCoy couldn't quite understand. He was just muttering strange things to himself in a voice that sounded dry and crackly—like a poor imitation of a gator. And then, strangely, he seemed to reply to himself in a normal voice—matter-of-fact and as confident as a whisper can sound.

Much to McCoy's dismay, Spock started tugging at the restraints again. If he was so inclined, the Vulcan could most likely break them; then where would the doctor be in the midst of this hallucination? Carefully, Bones put a hand on his arm and tried to hold it still: testing his own strength against his patient's. _No way in Earth's Hell_, Bones thought wryly. He started when Spock murmured "Stop," under his breath in immense pain, but he almost immediately realized that it wasn't directed at him. Wherever Spock was at the moment, it wasn't in Sickbay aboard the _Enterprise_ and Bones had a horrible sense of helplessness at not being able to bring him back.

_He turned, black eyes shining menacingly at me. I could just see his flattened, scaly, reptilian facial features in the darkness. As I stared at him, I felt prying hands tug at my mind's eyes, my consciousness. This was not what I used to—the talent that Vulcan's possess—this hurt. He forced his way past any shield I could put up, ripped away a lifetime of training to prevent this and leafed through my thoughts as nonchalantly as he would the pages of the proverbial book._

_ "Stop," I demanded, gritting teeth against the onslaught of a headache. I could handle, control this pain, this violation. As if on cue, it intensified ten-fold, and my vision blurred. I saw an eruption of blinding light and squeezed my dizzy eyes closed._

_ "I'm not sure that you quite understand your predicament," the word he used to describe me was the most insulting word in the Vulcan language—roughly translating as something between traitor and demon. However, the sound barely reached my ears through the cacophony of pounding in my skull. He was groping through my childhood memories, recollections of my smiling mother, and I found myself ill-equipped to stop him. "I didn't tell you to talk, thus you don't talk. I don't need words from your split-tongued mouth when I am in your mind."_

_ When the bone-cleaving pain subsided, I registered the pressure and texture of one of his palms slide against the side of my face. There was light all around me, much to the dismay of my sensitive eyes, and it revealed the small expanse of the room. The walls were rock and roughly cut into the solid earth. To my left was a smooth, metal table and next to that I was what looked like an old-fashioned, Terran heating stove with a chimney climbing up into the ceiling. Another lizard-man knelt down beside it to get going, and I could already feel the tingles of the slight rise in temperature into the fire._

_ "Don't think I forgot about your hot blood," Reemah continued, dragging my attention from analysis. He thought that I was looking for some way to escape and I was. Unfortunately, I quickly ascertained that the room was solid rock with one exit, a seven-foot-tall block of the same rock that surrounded me. "And don't think I don't know the inherit intelligence and cleverness of Vulcanians."_

_ Pointed fingertips dug into my cheek like icy swords, but I schooled my expression. My only hope out of this was logical thinking, so I blocked the pain from my mind and chased off that bit of frustration. "What do you want with me, Reemah?"_

_ The creature chuckled, his delighted emotions intruding into my mind as he retained his harsh, disgusting contact with me. I have had many people in this room, but my favorites are Vulcans and Humans." Unexpectedly, I received the flickers of an image from his thoughts; something he had once done to someone else. The woman was screaming, bleeding and struggling, but I could not see why. Still, it was admittedly unsettling enough. By her appearance, I could tell that she was Vulcanoid._

_ "Humans have so much passion," Reemah went on, "They fight and struggled almost endlessly before it becomes too much for them. I find it amusing that they cling so sincerely to the assumption that they had something to live for, worthless beings as they are. But Vulcans…" As he said this, he gripped my shirt in his ruthless talons and pulled me up to my knees. A deep-set ache pulsed in my joints when I moved. "You fools are something else entirely."_

_ Unwillingly, I thought of my father. At first, I wasn't sure where it came from, the memory. The recollection was pulled from my early teenage years when I still attended a pre-academics institution. I had been sent home for my unrestrained, illogical handling of a disagreement with a classmate—in short. I overpowered him and attempted to permanently disfigure him with my bare hands for insulting my mother. Sarek met me in the foyer with a disapproving, raised eyebrow that always serve to make me exceedingly uncomfortable. This wasn't something that I often looked back on, nor did I prefer to think about it. Reemah had somehow managed to unearth this from my subconscious mind and thrust it before me._

_ Blinking to clear my vision, I tried to control myself in time to keep the question out of my eyes. He sensed it anyway._

_ "You can hide nothing," he stated assuredly. "Yet your kind have some sort of genetic arrogance that deludes you into thinking that you can. You believe that you cannot be broken." The grin was wide, revealing a mouthful of sharp, white teeth to contrast the dark, blood-green of his face. "Believe you me. Before I am through, you will shatter. You will feel exactly what it is to have your soul ripped from you and you will beg for death."_

_ I didn't believe him, of course not. Wishing death was illogical. There was no doubt that I would die eventually, should it be here in this place or one hundred years from now. Contrastingly, I wished that I should _not_ die so as to give Jim a chance at freedom somehow._

Nurse Christine Chapel looked at the patient for less than a minute before she grimaced. Naturally, she is a very strong woman and in her profession, properly detached. But this was Spock. This was the regal, cold-yet-warm, harsh-but-kind, deceptively gentle man that had quite unintentionally won her heart. Said heart twisted in her chest at the sight of his bare, marred chest. Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her sense of professionalism that she promised Dr. McCoy she would have when she convinced him to get some sleep.

It was the equivalent of 2300 hours Earth time, fairly late at night, but Nurse Chapel didn't feel it. She couldn't really feel anything beyond this intense fear that seemed to fill the room. On any other day, having the Vulcan so close that she could maybe touch him—just once without him knowing—would have been a relatively good thing. This…this was disturbing.

Dark green marks stretched across his chest, down his sides and over his shoulders. There were even some clotted scabs behind his pointed, Vulcanoid ears and deep bruises on his sharp features. The sight sent shivers up her spine, despite the fact that the temperature in sickbay had once again been raised higher than was humanly comfortable. Uncertainly, she reached down and placed an open palm over the warm flesh on his cheek. The First Officer did not move—as he had not moved in four days.

* * *

Nicholas: Remember me? Hah, man it's been awhile since ya'll have heard from me, right? Well, that's because stuff like this takes forever to write. So hear it is, hope you like. And remember, R&R doesn't stand for rest and relaxation on !!!


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